


starts out easy (something simple, something sleazy)

by midnightluck



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Breathplay, Consensual but not safe, Don't Try This At Home, Gunplay, M/M, well but with a bow
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-13
Updated: 2016-10-13
Packaged: 2018-08-22 04:40:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,814
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8273185
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/midnightluck/pseuds/midnightluck
Summary: Turnabout's fair play, and Peacekeeper ain't the only weapon in this relationship.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Nux](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nux/gifts).



> Hello, fair warning: **this is extremely unsafe**. These are paid professionals on a closed course, do not try this at home. If you do attempt something as dangerous as breathplay, I do not recommend placing pressure on the trachea or front of the throat, okay? And have a safe-gesture, since words won’t work. Please. **_It’s not safe._**
> 
> Inspired heavily by Nux's _Trigger_. Thanks to [Resh](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Stories_of_Resh/), [Momouse](http://archiveofourown.org/users/abyssmalDeath/pseuds/Elizaren), [LAGRIENZO](http://archiveofourown.org/users/LAGRIENZO/) and Galemir for edits and beta! Any remaining mistakes are entirely mine.

“What’s the draw on that thing, anyway?” Jesse asks, leaning against the doorframe.

Hanzo glances back, then pointedly looks away and shrugs his quiver over his shoulder. “More than you are capable of.”.

Jesse pushes off the frame and wanders in a step or two. “Bad day?” he asks, just to be obnoxious; he knows it was.

And Hanzo knows he knows, and probably doesn’t appreciate it in the least. His shoulders go up and back and he turns to face Jesse squarely. In lieu of an answer, he says, “I am going to go practice.”

Jesse watches Hanzo and Hanzo bristles, lifting his chin and gripping his bow. It’s easy enough to let the silence grow, and Jesse tilts his head forward just enough for his hat to hide his eyes and frame his small smug smile.

It’s Hanzo that breaks first, because of course it is. “Move,” he barks, and takes two aggressive steps forward.

Jesse hums and shifts his weight enough to cock out his hip, entirely blocking the door. “Could I draw it, d’you think?” he wonders out loud.

“No,” Hanzo says. “Even if I allowed you to try, which is not happening.” Another brief pause as Jesse sees him visibly bite back the impatience. “Move.”

“Or what?” Jesse wants to know, and lets his eyes stick on Hanzo’s hands. “You gonna make me?”

“Only if you make me make you,” Hanzo snaps back, quicker than thinking; Jesse knows because he watches that sentence register in Hanzo’s eyes and the left one twitches, just slightly. Point to Jesse.

“No call for all that, now,” he says, making sure to drawl out the words slower than sap in winter, and that eye twitches again. “Can’t a fella be curious?”

“Be curious elsewhere,” Hanzo says, starting to move past him. “This is not a good time.”

Jesse sways just enough to block that side, but is careful not to touch. “I think it’s the perfect time,” he says, really playing up the accent. Not much more, now. “C’mon, gimme a demonstration?”

“If you do not move in the next five seconds, I _will_ ,” Hanzo threatens. Jesse just keeps his smile in place, tucks his thumb into his belt loop, and starts counting silently. _One, two, three..._

Hanzo growls at four, and his fingers go white around Storm Bow. He closes his eyes to draw in a slow breath, then exhales evenly. “What,” he grits out, “must I do to make you move?”

 _...victory._ Jesse smiles proper now, his very best version of coy, and tilts his hat back on his head. “Just draw that pretty bow of yours, won’tcha?” he asks, light and easy now that he’s won. “Show me how it’s done.”

So Hanzo does. Jesse just barely blinks and there’s an arrow right there, inches from his nose. It’s one of the regular ones, all three-sided head and electric-blue fletching. There’s nothing fancy about these ones; they’re simple, regular arrows and Jesse’s watched Hanzo shoot them clear through body armor.

“Are you _happy_ now,” Hanzo says flatly, and yes, yes he very much is.

Jesse reaches up real gentle and sets a finger on the side of the arrowhead. Hanzo’s gaze is already exactly on target, so he just licks his lips and kicks them up into that little sideways smirk that he knows Hanzo hates, and it’s as easy as that.

His back slams the door closed when Hanzo drives him into it. “Stop it,” Hanzo says, and if his voice isn’t steady, his bow absolutely is. It’s right there, under his chin, and Jesse can almost feel the arrow at his neck like a cold metal itch. “Do not touch,” Hanzo says, and pivots a high knee up against Jesse’s abdomen, using his shin like a seatbelt to keep him pinned but not in pain. “You are always doing that,” Hanzo says, and then finally, like a punch: “You are always _touching_ things that _do not belong to you._ ”

Jesse slowly lifts his hands up next to his head, making sure to keep his inner wrists on display, and then leaves them there against the wood. He lets his fingers curl down, making it more of an invitation than a surrender, and tilts his chin up at enough of an angle to both meet Hanzo’s eyes and expose his throat just right.

“Mighty sorry, I’m sure,” he says, and his eyes lid. “Let me apologize, won’t ya?” Hanzo’s eyes are stuck low, on his throat, so he goes in for the kill; he says, “I’ve been told I beg real pretty.”

The bow jerks, and there’s a cold-warm feeling against the delicate skin, right beside his trachea. He wonders if he’s bleeding. He hopes he is.

Something changes, something in Hanzo’s posture or eyes or maybe just the air, and the bow jerks back. Jesse watches it go with his limited vision and stays where he is, still pinned with a shin, and tilts his chin up just a bit more; it gives him a better view and also makes for a prettier picture, he knows.

And it must work, ‘cause that’s the sound of an arrow hitting the floor, he knows it is, and suddenly Storm Bow’s back in his field of vision, swinging towards him.

He fights his instincts and lets it come. A line of pressure hits, bounces, then cuts sharp across his throat. It's too much, actually--it's sudden and his reaction has his belt knife up and hovering by the bow’s upper limb as he chokes on it, but then it backs off, just enough to be present and have him gasping.

“You,” Hanzo growls, surging in just a bit, “are _frustrating._ ” His knee slides with the movement, turning back out and thunking solidly into the door. The shin is still sitting diagonally across his hips, though, and with all of Hanzo’s weight pushing into it, Jesse’s not goin’ nowhere.

That’s perfectly fine by him, though, even as he starts to struggle. It’s only a bit, half to get his head back and half to bring his hips forward, and Hanzo lets up just slightly.

“This _would_ be what it takes to shut you up,” Hanzo murmurs, and Jesse almost doesn’t hear it over his own ragged wheezes and thundering pulse.

He sinks down, legs buckling under him, and Hanzo follows him down to the floor, his shin still in place along the hinge of Jesse’s hip. It puts Hanzo straddling one of his knees and that just spurs him higher. The pressure retreats long enough for him to suck in a single deep breath and then it’s back, choking off his exhale.

He’s an absolute mess, writhing as much as he can and barely managing a high dry whine as he bucks up against the shin keeping him in place. He’s still looking up, though, as Hanzo stares down at him, watching intently.

He can’t breathe and can’t even mind it, either.  Hanzo’s there, controlling his air and holding his life on the tip of his bow, and Jesse knows well enough that Hanzo respects that power. Then again, Jesse wouldn’t give it to him if he didn’t.

Hanzo’s shin presses hard against him, and Jesse’s awkward wriggles go from purposeful to uncoordinated quick as falling. The pressure eases just long enough for a single shuddering inhale, but it’s not enough, could never be enough--

His face must be sunset red, his eyes have long since teared up, he can’t possibly look anything close to dignified or sexy, and the dark umbra around the word is making everything go muzzy. It’s all okay, though, because for one thing, Hanzo’s still there, and for another, he’s never been harder in his life.

\--not enough air, too much dark, he’s gasping, desperate, needs more friction, more oxygen, less of everything and more more more--

\--and Jesse comes faster than he ever has, bucking and seizing and gasping for the air that Hanzo controls. It's an ultimate surrender and they both know it, though neither will ever say as much.

“You are filthy, ” Hanzo says, somewhere far above and a long ways away, but the tone is sweet as sin, and the pressure eases off. “Jesse, you are the worst--”

He's too busy coughing to get enough breath to fire back with that time he had Hanzo on his knees, choking and drooling and begging around the barrel of a revolver that keeps far more than just the peace. His throat is on fire, his pants are a sticky mess, and Hanzo’s still rutting against his propped up leg; thinking is slightly harder than breathing.

“I cannot believe you,” Hanzo pants, leaning in to brace over Jesse’s twitching body and pressing their foreheads together. “That you, of all people, would give me this power--” and he cuts off with his own grunt, leaving the _over your life and your lungs and your heart_ unsaid.

Jesse manages a groan, low and tangled up in raw nerves and stuttering lungs as Hanzo pants wetly in his face. The sound is nothing recognizable, but it’s enough, and Hanzo lets his head fall to the side, landing on Jesse’s slumped shoulder.

“This is your fault,” he says thickly. “I just wanted to practice.”

Jesse makes a raspy noise that’s almost a word, and Hanzo shifts his knee just enough to catch Jesse in the solar plexus. “Do not dare,” Hanzo warns, because of course he could guess that Jesse wanted to say something about _practicing_. “You know I meant archery.”

A moment later he’s sighing and placing Storm Bow to their side. He ducks out of his quiver and sets that on the ground, too. “Come on,” he says, and uses the wall to stand. “Shower, I think, then clean clothes.”

Jesse groans a bit, flops a hand uselessly, and Hanzo sighs and offers a hand up. “No,” he answers the implied offer. “Shower on your own. You’ve caused enough trouble already.”

Hanzo pulls Jesse up when he takes the offered hand and props him against the wall. “Water?” he asks, and then fetches his tea mug from the bedside table. “It will be entirely your fault if you cannot speak properly the next few days,” he warns as he heads into the ensuite bathroom to fill it up.

Jesse knows it will take a second for the water to run cold, but he also would prefer warm water, so he follows, stumbling a bit as he gets his feet used to standing again. It’s just two steps from the wall to the sink so it’s easy enough to drape himself all over Hanzo from behind.

“ _Worth it_ ,” he says. His voice is low and rasping and wrecked beyond all recognition, and Hanzo shivers against him from the sound of it.

 _Worth it_ , Jesse had said, and it _was._


End file.
